


Father Figure

by thesouthernpansy



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, mentions of the Hatch parents, with plenty of guilty/incestuous overtones for flavor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesouthernpansy/pseuds/thesouthernpansy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee is a really shitty role model.</p>
<p>Veser wants to jump his bones anyway.</p>
<p>(In which Lee lies to a high-school principal and Veser takes off his pants.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father Figure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the lj kink meme: some "really guilty/incestuous veser/lee. maybe with some h/c on the side regarding veser's abusive dad".

“A parent-principal conference?” Lee leans in the doorway, shoves his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t even know they had those. Are you sure I’m qualified for something like that?”

“Sure, why not.” Veser is seated at the kitchen table, feet propped up, chair slanted precariously far back. He’s toying with a sheet of paper, folding it into an airplane. “You’re the one who picks me up from school most of the time and signs all my detention slips. I’m pretty sure everyone thinks you’re my dad, anyway.” He fires the plane half-heartedly in Lee’s direction without looking. It swoops low before lurching upwards in a drunken arc, hits Lee in the side of the neck, and stutters down to the linoleum floor.

“My mom won’t go, before you ask. I already tried her.”

Lee nudges the airplane with the toe of his shoe, glances up. “What about your dad?”

“He’d just get mad,” Veser replies, fingers skittering up the sleeve of his t-shirt to clutch at his arm. He grunts a little, shrugs. “Plus, he’s busy. You know, he works all the time.”

“Yeah.” There’s a brief moment of awkward, expectant silence, and Lee moves to put a comforting hand on Veser’s shoulder. Veser jolts and tenses and twists out of his reach.

“So are you gonna help me out or not?” he asks, scowling, still not really looking up. “Because, no pressure or anything, but if you don’t I’m kind of screwed.”  


Lee sighs. Sure, no pressure. He already knows that he’s going to give in, but the off-hand way Veser says this makes him feel vaguely guilty, anyway. He scrubs a hand across his face.

“What happened this time?”

“Ha, guess,” snorts Veser, shooting Lee one of his tilty sideways glances that always make Lee feel like he’s missed out on a punchline somewhere. From this angle, Lee can see the ugly, purpling bruise on Veser’s cheekbone, can see that the skin around his eye is angry and swollen, can see the little red crescent of a split lip. Oh, god. Not again.

Veser notices Lee’s hassled expression and smirks. “Need another hint?”

“You got into another fight? I thought we talked about this.” Lee gets a hand under Veser’s chin to get a better look at the damage. The bruises are worse up close.

“You done?” snaps Veser. Lee steps back, and Veser laughs, short and low in that wheezy, breathless way he has. His tongue flicks out to trace the cut on his lip, this time keeping his eyes on Lee, watching for a reaction. “You should see the other guy,” he says.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Lee looks back, smiles a little despite himself.

Of course, he goes to the conference in the end. Introduces himself as Mr. Hatch, yeah, he gets his looks from his mother, sits next to Veser looking properly angry and Disappointed, apologizes profusely for his son’s behavior. Veser, meanwhile, looks like he’s having the time of his life, and Lee tries not to look at him for fear of laughing.

Veser certainly doesn't make it easy for him; he stays fixed on Lee almost the entire time, shit-eating grin threatening to take over his entire face. When it’s time to leave, Lee shakes the principal’s hand and leads Veser away with a stern hold on his upper arm and a string of vague, generic threats about extra chores, taking away his video games, the time-honored stand-by of a grounding. Again, the expression Veser's giving him for his trouble is less than helpful, but Lee’s on a roll. He feels exhilarated and a little giddy, like he’s seventeen years old again and getting away with murder.

If the principal never actually mentions the fight to blame for the bruises on Veser’s face, Lee is too caught up in keeping a straight face to notice.

They make it as far as the parking lot before Veser breaks, gripping Lee around the wrist and leaning into him to laugh himself hoarse. Lee smiles, ruffles Veser’s hair fondly.

“I think that went well,” he says, and Veser snorts, gleeful, before pressing his forehead to Lee’s shoulder and losing himself to laughter, again. For a moment, Lee is caught off-guard—he hadn’t remembered Veser being so tall—but he collects himself enough to press a hand against Veser’s back and give a few well-humored chuckles of his own.

On the way home, Veser sneaks a look at his watch and demands that they stop for celebratory fast food. Lee, already inclined to indulge him as it is, pulls into the first burger place he sees and supersizes everything.

It’s dark outside by the time Lee pulls up in front of the Hatch home, feeling a little queasy from far too much greasy food and a milkshake roughly the size of a small dog. Veser seems unaffected.

“You wanna come in and watch a movie or something?” he asks, sucking down the last noisy drops of his drink. He looks at Lee with eyes the exact shade of green to obliterate Lee’s ability to turn him down. Lee parks his station wagon in the driveway and collects an armful of scattered food debris that he dumps into the trash can at the side of the house. Inside, it’s just as dark and absolutely silent. Veser flicks on a quick succession of lights and sheds his jacket on the floor in the hallway. Following behind him, Lee picks it up and drapes it over a banister.

“Where are your parents?” He’s trying not to be too obvious, but Veser shoots him a knowing look as he drops onto the couch. He shrugs, kicks off his sneakers.

“It’s their monthly ‘date night,’” he replies, fingers curled into exaggerated air quotes, eyebrows raised at Lee meaningfully. “They won’t be back for a while.” There’s something about his expression that’s like an incomplete confession, half sheepish and half triumphant, and Lee can’t figure out the reasoning behind either one. He glances once over his shoulder, towards the kitchen, then shakes his head and joins Veser on the couch.

“So what're you in the mood for, _Dad_?” Veser’s wearing that cocky grin, again, fingers laced behind his head.

Lee smiles and slings an arm around Veser’s slim shoulders, feeling tender and protective and _content_ mixed in with his usual tiredlongingsad. He crushes Veser to his side and presses his face into Veser’s thick, dark hair.

“You choose,” he suggests. “It’s all the same to me.”

For a moment, Veser allows the contact, letting out a long breath against Lee’s neck, fingers picking idly at the hem of Lee’s shirt.

“Jeez,” he says finally and pushes himself away. “Jeez, Lee, I’m not a little kid, anymore.” There’s no real conviction in his voice, but there’s something quiet and serious about the way he says it that makes Lee sit up, frown. Veser has some height on him at the moment, kneeling so that he’s leaning over Lee a little, and it all seems so deliberate, somehow, half-planned and half-hopeful, and _god_ does Veser look like his mother.

Without thinking, Lee reaches up to cup Veser’s face in both hands, thumbs tracing angles he had memorized long before Veser was ever born. She’s in his cheekbones, his jawline, his thin-set shoulders and bony wrists, in those huge green eyes and the smudge of dark lash. The nose, alright, the nose is his father’s, and those teeth really are a mystery and a half, but other than that, it’s her, it’s all her. With a start, Lee realizes that he’s almost looking for features that resemble himself, which is sick and stupid, and god this is his _best friend’s kid_ what is he _doing_?

Lee moves to retract his hands, starts to apologize.

Veser leans down and kisses him hard on the mouth.

It’s not a particularly good kiss, close-mouthed and unmoving and Veser pressing so hard that Lee can feel the outline of his teeth, but that isn’t really the point, is it? The point is that Veser is kissing him, that Veser’s mouth is on his and it _means_ something, that Veser’s hands are fisted in the front of his shirt and Lee can feel them trembling. The point is that Lee still hasn’t pulled away.  


And when Veser says,” Shit” against Lee’s mouth, teeth scraping Lee’s bottom lip, when he tries to turn his head, Lee doesn’t let him.

“Hey,” he says softly. His hands are still on Veser’s face, and he runs the pad of his thumb over the bruise on Veser’s cheekbone. He _would_ like to see the other guy, he thinks, would like to know exactly what all this fighting has done to Veser over the years. Veser’s gotten too good at swinging at the first sign of an insult, but at least he stands up for himself. Lee doesn’t doubt that every kid who’s been on the wrong end of Veser’s fist has deserved it. Sometimes, he wishes he could round them all up, take a couple of swings of his own, but Veser seems to be handling it pretty well by himself. He doesn’t need Lee to protect him.

Veser won’t quite meet Lee’s eyes, but he also isn’t trying to get away. He spreads his hands out on Lee’s chest and stares at them.

“Lee, man, I—”

“Look at me.” Lee says it as gently as he can, but it’s still not a request. Veser looks at him, and his expression manages to be challenging and terrified at the same time. Lee sucks in a deep breath. “What do you want, Veser?”

Veser’s eyes flick immediately to Lee’s mouth. “You’re all I’ve got,” he says, so matter-of-fact, and it’s more heartbreaking than the plaintive whine it might’ve been, had it been someone else, someone Lee could just say no to.

“That’s not true,” Lee asserts. He drops his hands, smiles, tries to catch Veser’s eye again. “What about your parents?”

“What about them?” snaps Veser.

“They care about you,” insists Lee, addressing the line of Veser’s collarbone. “I know your mom—”

Veser snorts. “No you don’t. Trust me.” He shoves himself away and moves to the opposite end of the couch, scowling, arms crossed. Lee's surprised by how much like a loss this feels, how much like a failure. But Veser is staring straight ahead at the television, flipping furiously through the channels, more than willing to forget his thwarted attempt at seduction. All Lee would have to do is let him.

Instead, he pulls the remote out of Veser’s unsuspecting hand and shuts the television off.

“Hey—” begins Veser angrily.

“Come here,” orders Lee.

Veser stares at him for a long moment, eyes wide with something so painfully hopeful and _young_ that Lee almost regrets it, almost tells him to forget it and tries to laugh it off.

Then, suddenly, Veser is straddling his legs, thighs pressed tight on either side of Lee’s body, hands pressed into the couch on either side of Lee’s head, and Lee’s fingers are hooked into Veser’s belt loops before he even has time to realize what’s happened. _Shit_ , thinks Lee.

Shit, someone has to teach Veser how to do this properly. It might as well be him. It’s what he’s _for_. It's always been what he's for. He’s the one who taught Veser how to ride a bike, took the training wheels off and spent hours pushing him down the street until he was steady enough to stay up on his own. Drove him to karate, piano lessons, soccer practice, every one of the two hundred activities Veser had decided to try out for the five minutes it took him to decide that they were boring. Talked him through his first day of high school, his first date, calculus homework. Taught him, later, how to drive, to parallel park, to seem properly contrite after accidentally rolling into a stranger’s bumper at a red light.

Veser still doesn’t have his own car, but Lee lets him drive the station wagon whenever he wants to, even if it’s usually just to take the two of them to the movies, to get something to eat, to get him out of his parents’ hair for awhile.

He needs to believe that this is sort of the same thing, because he probably isn’t going to able to stop it now.

It’s what he’s _for_.

Lee looks up, smiles reassuringly. Veser stares back, and the eye contact strengthens Lee’s resolve in a way that makes him feel dirty. Still, he’s the one who makes the next move, who slides a hand to grip Veser’s hip, and Veser crashes into him like a wave. The kiss is all unrestrained emotion, just as hurried and unpracticed as before, but this time Lee presses fingers at the nape of Veser’s neck, adjusts the angle so he can kiss Veser back properly.

Gasping, Veser pushes back against him, winding long, long fingers into his hair, nipping excitedly at his mouth. That’s a one-way ticket to a split lip, so Lee pulls back just enough to break the kiss, catch his breath. Veser makes a small, irritated noise and nudges against Lee’s neck, unsurprisingly impatient and shamelessly eager. Lee can’t stop the fondness that bubbles out of him in a soft chuckle.

“Veser, relax,” he instructs gently. He almost laughs again, but catches himself. “Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

Veser blinks at him, and for a moment Lee worries he’s done something wrong. Then he leans in again, growls “Shut up” low and rough from somewhere far back in his throat, and before Lee can even consider replying, he’s promptly silenced by the sudden, searing press of Veser’s mouth.

The contact is like being pumped full of helium and heat, Veser pressing a thigh between his legs and licking into his mouth, and _fuck_. Okay. Maybe Lee was too hasty to judge him, because once he’s calmed down a bit Veser’s not too bad at this at all. At worst, he’s a little overexcited, lacking in technique, but that’s where Lee comes in, right? He slides his hand under Veser’s shirt, presses a touch to the hot dip of his back, and Veser arches against him with a sound that reverberates through Lee’s chest.

It _aches_ —that catches Lee by surprise—hollows him out with an emotion not quite his own, hurtles through him and leaves him breathless and dizzy and desperate. When Veser breaks the kiss to lick a line up the side of Lee’s neck, Lee fights to swallow back the embarrassingly loudneedy _moan_ of a noise that comes to his tongue. He’s not entirely successful, if the smirk that creeps across Veser’s lips is anything to go by.

But instead of feeling embarrassed, horrified, guilty, ashamed, anything his mind is telling him he should feel, Lee is exhilarated, drunk on the giddy feeling bubbling up from his stomach, on splaying his fingers against searing skin and letting Veser swallow the sounds he makes. He squints his eyes up tight and lets go, melts into the warm, wet, friction, lets it fills him up until he’s practically squirming with lust.

_Shit_ , thinks Lee again.

He’s making out on the couch like a teenager—oh god, _with_ a teenager—and he’s never been so turned on in his life. Somehow, Veser’s clever fingers have Lee’s shirt undone all the way down before Lee even notices, and he’s far too far gone to care. His whole world is made up of this moment, of Veser’s hands and Veser’s mouth and the low, quiet, thoughtless noises that escape from him whenever Lee’s hands press just right _godtheredon’tstop_.

Veser tangles both hands into Lee’s shirt when he drops his forehead to the crook of Lee’s neck, gulping for air like a drowning man. Lee rakes his hands up Veser’s sides, dips the tips of his fingers below the waistband of Veser’s jeans.

“God,” gasps Veser. “Lee, I…Fuck.” He sighs and falls silent.

Lee smiles a little. “Here? Your parents could walk in any second.”

After a moment of silence, Veser laughs, warm and breathless, against his neck.

“Very funny,” he says. He doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s funny at all.

He dips his head and presses a kiss to Lee’s collarbone, traces a lazy hand down Lee’s chest. Then he lifts his eyes to meet Lee's, something worryingly determined in the set of his mouth. Lee starts to ask if something’s wrong, but Veser reaches down and presses the heel of his hand against the seam of Lee’s pants, and anything Lee had meant to say is lost in a low groan. Veser palms the outline of Lee’s erection through his jeans, and Lee spares only a dim, fleeting fraction of a second to be horrified at how hard he is before arching against the contact with a sharp exhale of breath.

Leaning forward, Veser grins at him, eyes predatory and bright. “But if you’re really that worried about it, I have a perfectly good bed upstairs.”

Lee stares at him. Then the meaning of Veser’s words seeps through his skull, and his eyes go wide. “Veser,” he sputters. “I was. I was just joking.” Probably. Maybe.

“I’m not.” Veser unfastens Lee’s fly and slides off the couch to land on his knees. When his fingers creep up to tug at the waistband of Lee’s boxers, Lee sucks in a breath and bites down on the heel of his hand in an attempt to regain control of his spinning world. Veser is less than helpful, looking up at him with swollen lips and pupils so blown there’s barely any trace of green in his eyes at all.

_I am a very bad influence_ , thinks Lee as he stands up and catches Veser by the wrist.

“Okay, upstairs,” he says gruffly. A month ago, two weeks ago, _yesterday_ , Lee couldn’t have seen this in his future, but if he has any say in that future, he knows for a fact that having Veser’s parents walk in on him with his dick down their son’s throat will definitely not be a part of it.

Actually having his dick down Veser’s throat may be another story, though, but Lee diligently avoids thinking about that. The possibility does two very different and equally unpleasant things to his stomach and one very obvious thing to the aforementioned dick that is not nearly as unpleasant as it probably ought to be.  


Veser says something very quietly that might be “Score” and allows himself to be led into the front room and up the stairs.

Lee has been in Veser’s bedroom before—he’s spent entire afternoons in here, stretched out on the carpet with Legos and Transformers and racecars, with comic books and GI Joes and Nerf guns, with fond endurance and a threadbare towel tied around his shoulders while Veser,grinning hugely around his first missing tooth, bounced on the bed and demanded to be addressed as ‘Sharkman.’ Lee purchased Veser his first Captain America comic not long after that, and the shelves jammed full of comic books remain a testament to the way Veser took to the Marvel universe like a seal to water.

Lee has _lived_ in here. He’s perched on the edge of the bed and read bedtime stories to a wide-eyed and riveted Veser still adjusting to life outside a crib, and, later, listened to an awed and ruffled Veser tell stories about the girls who’d allowed him to touch them in the back seat of the station wagon. He’s listened for the sound of singing in the house beyond and forced and stretched conversations until they lasted just long enough to justify the invitation to stay for dinner.

For some reason, though, it suddenly feels like he’s never seen the room before in his life.

Veser slams the door shut behind them and leans back against it, using two fist-fulls of Lee’s shirt to draw him in for a kiss. Lee braces himself against the door and kisses Veser back, his chest full to bursting with something that feels like frustration, his blood singing with something that sounds like love. Veser makes a low noise that vibrates through the both of them, pressing his thigh between Lee’s and keening, high and irretrievable and _gone_ in a way that makes Lee ache to follow. He digs his fingers into the small of Veser’s back, tongue and teeth and nails thrown into the same, mad attempt to forget himself, to lose every sick, sad thing he is in the smellfeeltaste and the warm, willing familiarity of Veser’s bony frame.

Someone out there thinks this boy is his son, and Lee can’t stop that thought from crossing his mind as Veser drags a hand down his stomach, the tips of his fingers edging past the waistband of Lee’s boxers. Mere hours ago, Veser’s principal addressed Lee as ‘Mr. Hatch’, and much more recently than that, Veser grinned at him and called him ‘Dad’, and it occurs to Lee that there is something very seriously wrong with him, because despite his best intentions towards best efforts, when Veser’s hand closes around his cock, his hips jerk forward and a string of encouraging profanities falls from his lips. Veser’s breath hitches, and both hands knot themselves into Lee’s shirt.

“Tell you what,” he says, embarrassment in his voice and the way he won’t quite meet Lee’s eyes. “I’m, uh, you think we could move this to the bed? My knees are sort of about to give, here.”

Lee drops his head and laughs against Veser’s temple. “Sure,” he says. “Whatever you want.”  


The edge of the bed catches Lee by surprise; it hits him at the back of his knees, and he sits down hard.

Veser snorts. “Smooth.”

He’s never been good with witty retorts, so Lee settles for a quick kiss to the inside of Veser’s wrist as his response. Veser snatches back his hand, studies Lee for a moment. There’s something in the crease of his eyebrows that’s startled, concerned, but also sort of thrilled and so dizzyingly glad that Lee thinks maybe he’s just imagining it, wishful thinking or hopeful thinking or Lee trying far too hard to interpret an expression he’s never seen on Veser’s face before.  


“Jeez, Lee,” mutters Veser finally, so softly that Lee has to strain to hear him. “You’re such a girl.”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” says Lee gravely, and a laughing Veser more or less pours himself into Lee’s lap, sliding Lee’s shirt from his shoulders and pressing his mouth against the skin this exposes.

“Are you always this funny when you’re horny?”

“I don’t know,” replies Lee honestly, and Veser laughs again.

Veser always laughs like he’s surprised by it, like he’s forgotten what it means or why he’s doing it, and what does that say about how often he does it? Lee reaches up, touches the purple bruise on Veser’s cheekbone with gentle fingers. With a sound not unlike a sob, Veser bats his hand away and presses his mouth to Lee’s. He rolls his hips forward, and Lee gasps at the wave of warmth that shudders through him at the contact. Veser twines his fingers into Lee’s hair, moves his hips against Lee’s again, and a breathless little moan drops from his lips.

Lee’s pants wind up in a pile by the foot of the bed, Veser’s crumpled by the nightstand. He makes no move to take off his t-shirt, and Lee’s attempt to do so is met with a snarl, Veser moving against him and biting down on Lee’s collarbone just hard enough to draw a little blood. Lee tries to bite back a swear and fails. Veser’s responding laughter is warm and nearly silent.

The t-shirt stays on, and Lee doesn’t ask questions.

Everything about the way Veser moves is hungry, anxious, _wanting_ , mouth and fingers frantic to explore as much of Lee’s skin as possible. Lee presses the length of his body against Veser’s and _gives_ , drinks in the softwarm sounds that uncoil from Veser’s chest, the startled curses bitten off against Veser’s bottom lip. He leans into Veser’s touches and watches Veser’s face as his expression comes undone, eyes flickering shut, mouth soft and slack.

Lee shifts his weight to balance on an elbow, and one hand skims an accidental touch low across Veser’s stomach.

“ _Fuck_.” Veser’s hips arch up at the contact, fingers scrabbling for purchase against Lee’s back. He lets out a sharp breath; there’s a word there, too, and it might be ‘please’, but Lee isn’t quite sure. He reaches out to smooth a sweat-matted lock of hair from Veser’s forehead. Veser turns his face into the touch, rocks his hips into Lee’s, gasping “pleasegod _fuck_ godplease” over and over against Lee’s palm.

“Veser—” Lee begins, but he’s cut short as Veser pulls him close and kisses him hard.

“Please just fucking touch me, already,” he pants against Lee’s mouth, voice thick with an emotion just this side of broken. “Please, Lee, please, fuck—I’m going nuts, here.” He laughs, but it’s self-conscious and half-hearted, which sparks up a stab of anger in Lee, directed at himself and his blind stupidity. This isn’t right at all. All that insecurity and cynicism, the anger and frustration that has Veser second-guessing himself all the time—Lee’s supposed to be a relief from that, he always has been. _This_ , whatever it is, shouldn’t be any different.

Lee touches the side of Veser’s face gently. When he takes Veser’s cock in hand, runs a thumb across the slit, Lee thinks the noise that tears itself from Veser’s throat is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Veser’s hands fist desperately into the sheets as Lee works him, and his breathing grows husky and shallow.

“Fuck,” he whines, and Lee can feel him trembling. “Fuck, Lee, I—”

“Shh, it’s all right.” Lee laces the fingers of his free hand with Veser’s, presses several soft kisses to his temple. “It’s all right, Veser, I’ll take care of you.”

Veser comes in one wonderful, fluid motion that starts with his heels digging into the mattress and ends with his head tossed back, every prayer and every swear he knows falling from his lips in a single low breath. They all, somehow, sound suspiciously like Lee’s name. Lee isn’t far behind, too far gone to be embarrassed by the way he grinds against Veser like a virgin on prom night. Veser's grip on Lee’s hand tightens, then loosens as he lies back and tosses an arm over his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

“Everything okay?” Lee asks him.

This time, Veser’s laugh is tired, shaky, and small, but genuine, and Lee feels a glow of pride at that.

“Everything okay,” he repeats hoarsely. “Yeah, Lee, everything’s okay. A-o-fucking-kay. Very, very okay.”

Lee smiles. In six minutes’ time, he’ll rise to re-dress himself, will fuss over the marks he’s left on Veser’s neck, will say nothing when Veser promptly locks himself in the bathroom to change his shirt. In thirteen, Veser will snort and inform Lee that his attempts to flatten down his ‘sex hair’ will fool no one and, winding both hands into Lee’s hair, will make the situation infinitely worse. In twenty, Veser’s parents will return home and thank Lee for taking care of Veser while they were out, and Lee and Veser will exchange knowing, guilty looks and fight back laughter.

In twenty-one, Lee will make eye contact with his best friend’s wife and realize what he's done. For the first time in years, he'll turn down the invitation to stay for dinner. He will not respond to Veser’s goodbye. Neither of them will ever mention it; Lee will try to bring it up a little more than a year from now, will try to apologize for his part in it. Veser will sock him in the jaw. It'll be the last time he sees Lee alive.

But in the time it takes those six minutes to pass, Lee cleans them up as best he can, and Veser laughs and smiles and kisses him lazily. Veser is spotted with hickeys, and Lee boasts a very impressive bite mark on his collarbone. They both reek.

It’s very, very okay.


End file.
